


Don't Stop Me Now

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Mother to Son [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Smut, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: On your way to the grocery store, you bump into a handsome blonde you recognize from the book shop.





	Don't Stop Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the first part of this series, "You're My Sunshine", please give it a read! This will make more sense. 
> 
> Also, I've never written a smut scene so here you go. I'd apologize in advance but I don't want to.

Early on Sunday morning, you crept out of bed, careful not to jostle the small figure nestled into the blankets beside you. Through the open window, you heard the trill of skylarks, singing sweetly as the sun rose above the horizon. Slipping a jumper on over your pyjama shirt, you slunk downstairs into the kitchen, stepping carefully around the creakiest boards. The previous day’s dishes were stacked in the drying rack, waiting to be put away, but you ignored them; the noise might wake Corin, and you wanted some time to yourself.

As you brushed past the dividing curtain into the shop, you breathed in the familiar scent of paper and ink. Golden light shone into the room through several large windows, warming the books on their shelves. There was something sacred about the place when it was empty early in the morning, you had always thought. No pages rustled, no voices spoiled the pure silence. From beneath the counter, you retrieved the record that Roger, the handsome customer from earlier in the week, had dropped off for you. In the busyness of life, you hadn’t had time to sit down and listen to it. With Corin asleep and no plans for the next hour, you decided that now was the time. 

The loft ladder, which moved across the floor on a pair of wheels, invited you to climb it. You locked the wheels in place and started to ascend, carefully gripping each rung. As you reached the top of the ladder, you noticed that the pillows, which were usually spread out for readers to lean against, had been piled into a sort of nest; Corin, your 5-year-old son, often napped in the loft, and this was clearly his handiwork. With a smile, you hoisted yourself up onto the deck of the loft and set about rearranging the pillows in anticipation of Monday’s customers. 

Your late husband’s record player sat on a short table at the back of the loft, collecting dust. A few regular customers had permission to bring in music, so long as it was played quietly, and didn’t disrupt other readers. Lately though, the shop had been quiet, as all the regulars had gone home for the summer break. A few graduate students spent their evenings reading over a spot of tea, but your customer base of late had been mothers and their school-age children, looking for a way to occupy an afternoon while school was out for the summer. 

You carefully slipped the record from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. With the flick of a switch, the black disk began to spin. You picked up the needle and set it gently down onto the record. Before the music began to play, you adjusted the volume so as not to wake Corin. He’d had a hard time falling asleep last night, and you wanted him to have a rest before your brother picked him up for and afternoon outing. The record sprang to life, starting with a rock guitar riff. 

You leaned back against the wall, listening intently to each part. The lead singer didn’t sound like Roger, but you recognized his voice in the backing vocals. As you settled in, you realized that Roger hadn’t said what instrument he played. You thought about it for a moment, and recalled that he had been tapping rhythms out the table as he talked, so you guessed that he probably played drums. This drew your attention to the patter of sticks against snare, the splash and snap of cymbals. 

“This is pretty cool,” you thought aloud. You liked that the songs varied in tempo and style, and that the lyrics were whimsical but intriguing. The clanking of cowbell brought a smile to your face. Halfway through, you had to flip the record to listen to the B-side. As you did, a piece of paper taped to the vinyl caught your attention. 

“What do you think?” was scrawled across the paper, with a phone number beneath it. Roger had initialled it with a looped ‘R’. You traced the letter with your finger, admiring his penmanship – very neat for a man. You read and reread the paper a hundred times as you listened to the next half of the album. An organ appeared in one song, and a humming guitar opened the next. Your ears perked up as you heard the high growl that was unmistakably Roger’s. A little shiver ran down your spine as he sang. You made a mental note to ask about this song when—if, you called, you corrected yourself. 

Why wouldn’t you call? you asked yourself. He was interested, and so were you. But you also had a lot of other things to worry about. Corin and the shop were your life, and there were only so many hours in a week. As the album tinkled to a close with a piano instrumental, you flicked the turntable off and leaned forward, clutching your knees to your chest as you weighed your options. 

If you did call him, it might turn into something more than evening tea. If you didn’t, things would go on as they always had. With a sigh, you slipped the record back into the sleeve, pocketing Roger’s note. You could leave that decision until later; it was an ungodly hour to be phoning someone, anyways. As you returned the record to its spot beneath the cash desk, the slow smack of your son’s feet on the hardwood sounded behind you. 

“Mummy,” the boy yawned, settling himself into a chair at the kitchen table, “were you listening to music?” He rubbed his eyes and nuzzled his face into his blanket, which he clutched in his fist. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, rummaging in the cupboard for a container of quick oats. “Brown sugar or berries in your oatmeal today, love?” Corin frowned at the back of your head. 

“We ran out of berries yesterday, Mum,” he said crossly. “Remember?” 

“Yes, of course,” you sighed, “brown sugar it is, I guess. We’ll have to stop at the greengrocer’s before Uncle takes you to cricket.” Corin gasped, suddenly recalling that today was Sunday, his favourite day of the week. 

“I’ve got to pack my bag!” he shouted, jumping out of his seat and scrambling up the stairs. You set to work at the stove, boiling milk for the oatmeal. Since Corin had started his summer kindergarten program, your brother had been taking him to watch Sunday afternoon cricket games in the park. A local league played games there on Sundays at noon, and a junior team played directly afterwards. After watching his first game, Corin had come home and begged you to sign him up for the junior team. Not being a sportswoman yourself, but wanting him to get involved in a healthy activity, you agreed. To your dismay, all of the other kids were much taller and a year or two older than your son, but Corin had taken to the sport immediately, and was one of the better players on the team. 

As you set two steaming bowls of warm, sweet-smelling oatmeal out the table, Corin bounded down the steps in his uniform, a white collared polo tucked into white trousers. You painstakingly washed grass stains from it every Monday, ensuring that he had a pristine outfit to wear each week. 

“Darling, it’s a bit early to get dressed, don’t you think?” you asked, pouring a glass of juice for yourself. “Practice isn’t until 2:00, and it’s barely 8:00 now.” 

“Uncle Dan says it’s never too early to dress smart!” Corin announced proudly, digging into his oatmeal. 

“Of course he does,” you mumbled under your breath. Your brother Daniel, three years your senior, had always been the superior child in your family. His grades were better than yours, earning him a place at Oxford while you stayed home with a newborn baby. He’d graduated from law school with first class honours, and had a prestigious job at a well-known corporate law firm to show for it. You loved Dan, but you also thought he was a bit of a tosser. 

“I can’t be late for the game today, Mum,” your son warned you, and you tried your best to keep a straight face as he looked at you solemnly. “Uncle Dan says this is an important one, because it decides who goes on to the playoffs.” 

“Well, I’d better get ready for the day so we can get those groceries, hadn’t I?” you asked, draining your glass and standing up from the table. “Rinse your bowl out when you’ve finished so the oats won’t stick, alright?” 

“Yes, Mum,” Corin sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have to tell me every time.” 

“If it’s not you leaving your sticky bowl in the sink, then it must be a goblin, hmm?” you smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Water Nana’s flowers before you turn on the telly, please.” Corin shovelled oatmeal into his mouth, and you said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t choke while you were in the shower. 

* * * * * 

Leaving your hair fall in loose waves past your shoulders, you walked over to the wardrobe, holding your towel closed as you passed the open bedroom door. You picked out a summery floral frock with sleeves and slipped it on over your head. Tending not to be flashy in the way you dressed, you opted for small pearl stud earrings, and a delicate gold locket that held a photo of Corin on one side, and your parents on the other. The pearls were a gift from your mother, and the necklace was one you wore every day. 

Corin stood ready at the door of the shop, his rucksack packed with snacks, cricket gear and a bottle of water. He had pulled a wide-brimmed hat on over his head, and based on his white-streaked cheeks, he had made a solid attempt to put on sunscreen. 

“Good boy,” you smiled, tweaking his nose playfully. He giggled, squirming away from you. “Ready, freddie?” 

“Mummy, my name’s not Freddie!” he laughed, rubbing his face against yours. 

“Oh, sorry,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “I forget sometimes. That’s my other son’s name.” Corin laughed hysterically at your teasing, even though this was a joke you made at least once a week. As he leaned against you, you breathed in what you had come to believe happiness smelled like: strawberry toothpaste, laundry soap and a hint of grass. Your little boy was truly the light of your life, and not a day went by that you didn’t love being his mother. 

“Mum, we HAVE to go,” he said finally, tugging on your hand. “What if they run out of blueberries again?” His little hand grasped yours tightly, pulling insistently. 

“Cor, that was one time,” you said, rolling your eyes. “There will be plenty of blueberries and red berries and purple berries.” You opened the front door of the shop and Corin bolted out onto the front step, leaving you to lock up. He had drawn chalky boxes on the sidewalk earlier in the week, creating a wonky hopscotch game that he would play any time you tried to leave the house. 

“Come on, love,” you called, walking ahead of him. “We’d better go before they run out of blueberries again.” With a screech, he ran to catch up with you. A slight breeze blew toward you, blowing your hair back. Corin grabbed your hand and held it jealously as you strolled off toward the greengrocer’s. The day was blue and sunny, and you were thankful for the small amount of shade provided by the trees whose branches hung over the sidewalk. A couple walked past you with their dog, who eyed your son warily. 

“Mum,” Corin asked suddenly, “can I ask you a question?” His voice sounded odd, but you thought nothing of it. 

“Sure, lovey,” you answered. The shop was in sight, just over two blocks down the street. You were working on a mental grocery list, not really thinking about what Corin might want to ask. 

“Do you think we’ll ever have a new daddy?” 

“What?” you asked, looking down at him in surprise. He looked up at you, still clutching your hand tightly. His eyes, a deep, thoughtful brown like his father’s had been, held a hint of fear, but mostly curiosity. 

“A daddy,” he repeated simply. “You know, like my friends all have?” A bee buzzed around his hat, but he didn’t seem to mind. You had unconsciously slowed your pace, but now you decided to stop. A park bench beneath a tree was unoccupied, and you guided Corin over to it. 

“That’s a good question, Cor,” you nodded, trying to think of what to say. This was a pretty big question, and you didn’t want to mess up by giving him an empty answer. His legs, slim and sun-kissed, dangled from the bench, casting dark shadows on the pavement. “What do you think about the idea of having a new daddy?” He scrunched his nose and pressed his lips together, thinking hard. 

“I think…wait, would Daddy in heaven still be my daddy?” he asked, glancing up at you nervously. “I don’t want him to be mad if I get a new dad.” 

“Daddy would never be upset about that, Cor,” you promised, putting your arm around him protectively. “Daddy loved you with all his heart, and nothing will ever change that.” 

“Okay,” he breathed, relief washing over his face. “Then I guess it might be nice to have a daddy. All the kids in my class have dads, except for Lisa…” he said quietly, staring at the ground. “She has two mommies,” he whispered, “which is good, too, I’m pretty sure, but don’t tell anyone.” Your chest shook as you tried to contain your laughter at his contemplative comment. 

“What do you think a good Daddy would be like?” you wondered aloud, drawing the little boy beside you out of his thoughts. 

“A good Daddy…” he said, looking at you for hints, “would take me to cricket on Sundays, maybe?” You nodded encouragingly, and this fired up his imagination. “He would play outside with me, and read to me every night before bed!” Your heart swelled as he listed off other traits, such as “good swimmer” and “gives good hugs”. 

“So if I met someone,” you said slowly, staring at your feet, “that I really liked, would you want to meet him?” A few seconds of silence passed, and you glanced over at your son to see if he was still paying attention. He had plastered an enormous, cheesy grin on his face, and was nodding very fast. 

“Yes, that would be good,” He said through his teeth, making a silly face at you. Without another word, he bounced up from the bench and started off down the sidewalk, leaving you to wonder what on earth was going on in your son’s brain. You registered that he was getting close to the intersection, but until he broke into a run, you didn’t think to call out to him. 

“Corin! STOP!” you screamed, bolting after him. “CORIN!” Before he hit the edge of the sidewalk, a man who was standing close by bent down and threw an arm out to catch him. Breathing hard, you came to a stop as you reached them. “You scared the hell out of me, Cor,” you gasped. “You can’t run off like that!” 

“Y/N?” the man asked, surprised. You blinked hard, and realized that tall, blonde, handsome Roger Taylor had his arm around your son. 

“Roger?” you said, shaking your head to clear your mind. “What are you doing here?” Corin stared up at him, his mouth agape. 

“I was just walking to the grocer’s to pick up something for later tonight,” he smiled. “But I guess I had bigger reasons to be on the corner today!” 

“Corin,” you sighed, bending down to meet your son’s eyes, “you are VERY lucky that Mr. Taylor was here to catch you. If a car had driven by, you could have been hurt very badly, or something even worse.” You felt tears in your eyes as you said this. Roger let his arm drop, releasing Corin, who wrapped his arms around your neck. 

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he said softly. His voice had the audible wobble of that said he was close to tears. “I won’t do it again, pinkie promise.” You kissed the side of his head and held him for a moment. Over his shoulder, Roger met your eyes. Where they had been sharp and hungry that night in the shop, his eyes were now tender, calming. 

“Is your tummy alright, little guy?” Roger asked as Corin pulled away from you. “I grabbed you pretty hard, and I hope I didn’t hurt you.” Your son turned towards him, but leaned against you as if unsure of how to feel about the situation. Sensing his discomfort, Roger held out a hand. “My name is Roger, and I’m a friend of your mum’s,” he smiled. Corin took his hand and shook it. 

“I’m Corin O’Connor,” your son announced, puffing his chest out bravely. “I’m taking my mom to the greengrocer because we didn’t have any blueberries left for our oatmeal this morning.” Roger’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise. 

“NO BLUEBERRIES?” he cried dramatically. “That’s terrible!” Corin smiled, nodding in agreement. 

“But we still had brown sugar, so we could still eat.” 

“I thought about letting you starve, but that didn’t seem fair,” you said solemnly, and Corin screwed his face into a harsh frown. 

“Mum, we have to go now or I’m going to be late for cricket! I almost forgot!” he huffed. “Uncle Dan will be so mad if we’re late.” Roger tapped the side of Corin’s arm, catching his attention. 

“I just remembered that I don’t have any blueberries in my fridge either,” Roger said, “so maybe if I walk to the shop with you, you could show me where they keep them.” Corin nodded, his face lighting up with excitement. 

“I know where ALL the fruits are!” he said, pointing across the street to the store. “But we have to hurry! Come on, Mum!” And with that, he reached out and grabbed Roger’s hand. Roger’s eyes crinkled as he smiled down at your son, and as he looked over at you, he winked. Your cheeks flushed pink, and you hid your smile with your hand. 

“Okay, Cor,” you said finally, “the light’s in our favour, we should cross now.” Corin turned and held a hand out to you, indicating that he’d like to hold your hand. With that, he set out across the street with you and Roger in tow. 

* * * * * 

“Mr. Taylor,” Corin asked as you exited the shop, “would you help us carry our groceries home, please? It’s an awful lot for Mum to carry on her own.” You shook your head in protest, but Roger reached out and snatched a bag heavy with cans from your hand. 

“I would love to, Mr. O’Connor,” Roger replied. “You lead the way!” Corin slipped his arms through the straps of his rucksack and set off, leaving you and Roger trailing behind him. 

“Really, I’ll be fine,” you assured him, but Roger wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“I don’t mind,” Roger insisted. “I could use a good walk anyways. Freddie and Brian are having a bit of a row, and I don’t want to eavesdrop.” With a sigh, you conceded. Corin skipped along, stopping every now and again to inspect an interesting bug on the sidewalk, or to pick a blade of grass that might make a good whistle. He made sure to point these things out to Roger, who paid close attention and seemed genuinely interested by all your son’s anecdotes. 

As you watched the two of them interacting, you found yourself noticing the way Roger’s white t-shirt hung from his lanky frame. He looked good in such a casual outfit; his jeans were in-style, but had the wear and tear of frequent use. His white trainers matched his shirt, and his sunglasses pulled the look together. 

“Y/N, would you mind if we took a short detour?” Roger asked, grabbing your attention. Your cheeks flamed as you pulled yourself from your thoughts. As if reading your mind, a mischievous but flirtatious smile flashed across his face. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, but Corin and Roger had already turned off into the park. You followed at a distance, observing the way Roger spoke to Corin. Your son was already smitten with Roger, you could tell by the way he hung off Roger’s words as though they were made of candy. 

“Mum, look!” Corin hollered, waving you over to where he and Roger had stopped beside a tree. They had wandered off the park path and into the bush. Roger waved his hands animatedly as he spoke, and Corin looked back at you excitedly. 

“What did you find?” you asked, padding across the grass towards them. 

“My friend Brian showed me this a week or two ago,” Roger explained, pointing to the base of the tree. “The roots have grown outwards in a way that leaves some open space beneath this tree. So,” he said, looking to Corin to finish the story. 

“There’s a hole right here, and inside the whole lives…” Corin trailed off, smiling with excitement. He cupped his hands around his mouth and held them to your ear. In the loudest whisper possible, he said, “A badger! There’s a real-life badger in this whole, Mr. Taylor told me.” You raised your eyebrows and your eyes went wide. 

“A real badger?” you asked, pretending to be shocked. “Are you sure it isn’t just a family of fairies that live under the tree?” Corin giggled, and he shook his head. 

“No, Mum, that’s just silly.” He pulled your hand and indicated for you to crouch down beside Roger. “Look in the hole! If you’re really still, Mr. Taylor says, you might even see the badger!” You craned your neck to peek into the hole, and in the process, brushed up against Roger’s arm. He placed a gentle hand against your back to keep you from falling as you tried to get a good look at the badger hole. 

“Careful now, love,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.” You turned your face slightly to look at him, and came within inches of his lips. “Sorry,” you apologized, steadying yourself with a hand against the ground. 

“I’m not,” he whispered, too quiet for Corin to hear. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized that this man might just be bold enough to kiss you. In the same moment, it was apparent by the glint in his eyes that he knew you’d let him. 

“Mr. Taylor,” Corin called out, breaking the tension, “I have to go to a cricket game pretty soon. So we should get home, okay?” 

“Absolutely,” Roger agreed, standing up quickly. “Cricket games are of the utmost importance.” With that, the two were off again, marching along as happily as a pair of dwarves on their way to see Snow White. 

* * * * * 

“Just set the bags on the counter,” you called ahead Corin led Roger past the dividing sheet in the kitchen doorway. “I’ll be there in a second.” As you glanced at the clock that hung on the wall above the cash desk, you were surprised to see that it was nearly 11:00. Time had flown by since you’d left the house earlier that morning. 

Before you reached the kitchen doorway, however, the shop door jangled as it swung open. Your brother Dan, clad in designer clothes and an expensive pair of sunglasses, walked in. He raised his eyebrows at you in lieu of a greeting, and with a booming voice, called out to Corin. 

“READY FOR PLAYOFFS, COR?” After a moment, your son’s smiling little face peeked out from behind the door curtain. 

“Just one second, Uncle Dan,” he called. “Mr. Taylor and I are putting the groceries away for Mummy!” He disappeared behind the curtain, much to the annoyance of your brother. 

“Who the hell is Taylor?” Dan scowled, coming to stand beside you. 

“His name’s Roger,” you corrected, “and he’s a friend of mine, who we bumped into at the greengrocer’s.” 

“Great. Is Corin ready to go or not?” Dan asked, checking his watch. You rolled your eyes; they had a full hour to spare, and the field was less than a 5-minute drive away. 

“He packed his bag after breakfast, and I already checked it,” you replied, pointing to the rucksack Corin had deposited beside the door. “Why don’t you go wait in the car, and I’ll send him out in a minute?” Dan huffed impatiently, but did as you had suggested. When the door jingled shut behind him, you folded your arms crossly. It was a real mystery to you how a man as grouchy as him could be married to someone as sweet and kind as Meredith, who came by at least twice a week to give you a hand with Corin. Even if you didn’t get along well with your brother, you were glad at least that he made time to spend with your son, who so clearly looked up to him. 

“All ready to go, Mum!” Corin called out, holding the curtain aside for Roger. “We put all the food away in the fridge.” You kissed the top of Corin’s head as he threw his arms around your waist. “See you after practice!" 

“See you later, Cor,” you waved, blowing him a kiss, which he caught in his left hand and held to his heart. 

“Bye Mr. Taylor,” the boy shouted as he opened the shop door. “See you later!" The door slammed shut, leaving you and Roger to stand in silence until Dan’s car had pulled away. 

“So…” you said, turning to look at Roger, “if I made tea, would you drink it?” 

* * * * * 

The afternoon sunlight poured onto the floor of the loft. Roger had hauled a blanket up the ladder, and you’d spread it out onto the hardwood, creating a soft place to lie down. Roger was stretched out on the blanket, his hands cradling his head. His shirt was probably somewhere on the floor of the shop, as were your panties and his belt. 

* As soon as you’d mentioned the tea, Roger had swept you into a long, deep kiss. After a moment, he broke away to see your reaction. “Let me lock the door,” you had said, but it was only a few seconds before you returned and pulled him towards you. Your hands found their way into his hair, and he let out a groan as you pulled gently on his blonde locks. A minute later his shirt was off and he had you against a bookshelf, out of the view of the front window. You fumbled with his belt as he sucked at your throat. Your breath was ragged, but you weren’t interested in asking for a break. He wanted you now, and you were ready for him. * 

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, trailing a hand across his bare stomach. He drew in a sharp breath laughed as your fingers tickled him. “You,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His belly was warm beneath your fingers, and he gasped slightly as you drew a slow line down the trail of hair beginning at his navel. 

“What about me?” you wondered, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. 

“I’m thinking...mostly about how I don’t want this to be it,” he said frankly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m going to say something strange,” he admitted, “and I hope you feel the same way.” You listened quietly, and he took your silence as an invitation to go on. “I want to complicate your life.” 

“You already have,” you laughed, kissing his throat with a smile. 

“More than I already have,” he corrected himself. “I want this, and more.” 

“How much more?” 

“All of it, I think.” 

You pulled back, leaning your head against his shoulder where you could look into his eyes. His expression was one of contentment. Where a flirtatious smirk had played across his lips earlier in the day, he now looked serious. 

“You don’t know what that means,” you warned him. “There’s a lot to be had.” 

“Dead husband,” he nodded, “I recall.” 

“And a son that means everything to me,” you reminded him. 

“Don’t I look like I’d make a good dad?” he laughed. “I know I don’t come across as the fatherly type at first, but I think you could come to see it.” As he met your eyes, his smile faded. “I’m being serious,” he promised. “Let me prove it.” 

“I believe you,” you replied, “but there’s a lot about me you don’t know yet.” 

“Then let me get to know you,” he pleaded. “I can already tell that you want to push me away and protect what you have. But if you don’t give me a shot, you won’t ever know.” You turned your face into his shoulder and planted a kiss against his skin. 

“So, what you’re telling me,” you said, pausing for effect, “is that you, a twenty-something rockstar drummer, want to settle down with a single mother and small business owner who has no interest in living an extravagant life?” 

“We’ve only done one album,” he protested, “and who’s to say I have to live in a big fancy house when I’ve got a beautiful woman and a darling child waiting for me in a house that’s also a fucking bookshop?” 

“Talk to me after the sex has worn off,” you smiled, shaking your head. “This is definitely the sex talking.” 

“It could keep talking, I don’t think I’d mind,” Roger laughed. He pulled you on top of him and kissed you gently. His eyes were soft, and you couldn’t help but give in to his mood. 

“Fine,” you groaned, “I’ll let you in...let you get to know me, and Corin. On one condition.” 

“And what might that be?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“You have to put your shirt back on and come with me to watch Corin’s cricket practice. Being a part of my life means being a part of Corin's life, too.” 

“I don’t know if I—just kidding,” he smiled. “Let’s go.” You gave him one last kiss before standing up to collect blankets and pillows. It wouldn’t do to leave the shop a mess. Corin would ask questions, and that wouldn’t do. You descended the ladder and stepped barefoot onto the hardwood floor of the shop. 

“I should clean that up,” you frowned, biting your lip. The floor was a bit of a mess after the bookshelf incident. 

“Can I have a condition, too?” Roger asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“Depends on what it is,” you said slowly, watching his smile widen. 

“I’ll go to the cricket match, and I’ll wear a shirt…but you have to leave those panties at home.” You thought about it for a moment, and nodded in agreement. 

“Fine. I’ll leave them here, if you’ll stay for dinner after Cor's practice.” He didn't need time to think about his answer. 

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> So Roger got dad fever really fast, but I don't feel bad about writing it this way because if you met little Corin and spent any time with him, you'd want to be his parent too. Where will this go from here? Only happy places. Dad! Roger is happening, people. Nothing will stop me from writing Roger as a dad. Where will this go next? Let me know what you want to see!


End file.
